


2016

by austenfan1990



Series: And Then They Came For Us [6]
Category: Babylon (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 17:10:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9133435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/austenfan1990/pseuds/austenfan1990
Summary: Perhaps this year of years isn't too much of a shitpile, after all.





	

Late one afternoon, Liz is in Finn’s office and miraculously, they’re not arguing. She’s popped in to thank him for taking charge of the last daily press briefing earlier that morning, the last before everyone breaks up for the holidays, but then finds herself going off a familiar tangent.

‘You’re practically journalist royalty,’ she blurts. ‘I used to wonder why you’re so cosy with the press, but now I realise it’s actually the other way round.’

Finn groans; one look through a particular newspaper archive a month ago had revealed more than the statistics she had needed for a press release. She had discovered that Finn’s grandfather been its former political editor and had been harping on about it ever since.

‘Don’t blow it out of proportion,’ he replies tersely. ‘And I read English at uni, not journalism.’

‘Yeah, and studying under Caroline Carey.’

Finn gapes at her, wondering – and not for the first time – whether she’s broken into his filing cabinets.

‘I read her CV,’ explains Liz. ‘It’s all up on her profile.’ After he had let slip how long he'd known her, it was pretty easy joining up the dots. Plus the years matched (visiting lecturer at a [surprisingly] non-Oxbridge university). ‘I’m sorry having to break this to you, Finn, but there is such a thing as the Internet, you know.’

He grunts. ‘I think the Internet should fuck right off, sometimes.’

‘Wise words. Seeing that you, I, Mia…and basically the whole department would be out of a job.’

‘Not necessarily,’ argues Finn. ‘Not me, anyway…I don’t know how you’d fare, having descended from the lofty heights of Instagram.’

Liz smiles serenely at him in the face of his mocking one; it’s annoying how he can constantly make fucking Instagram an actual term of insult.

‘Is this your way of admitting that you’re merely a monkey at a typewriter, after all?’ she jibes.

He ignores her.

‘Newspapers, pamphlets, _the written word_. That’s the bread and butter of our profession. Personally, I’d be just as home reading off a teleprinter as I do Twitter and the rest of the hell we call social media,’ he says, gesturing at his computer screen. ‘At least I won’t need to decipher hundreds of emojis flooding the feeds in lieu of actual fucking words.’ Liz finds herself not quite not-agreeing with him but she won’t ever admit to that.

‘I don’t know, Finn,’ she says aloud. ‘Wouldn’t you miss those poop emojis you keep sending to me? Just a little bit?’

‘Nope, because I could in fact make a massive poop emoji made up of thousands of letters, with said letters conveniently repeatedly spelling out “Fuck off”. Which coincidentally I’d very much like _you_ to do right now.’

‘I guess Apple missed a trick there,’ she says absently. ‘Anyway, about Caroline Carey.’

Finn stops scrolling down his screen but doesn’t look up. ‘What about her? Has 2016 carried her off like everything and everyone else? Like democracy, decency and fucking common sense?’ he spits, with a hint of rage.

‘No…unfortunately. But she is getting carried away by rumours of preferential treatment dished out to members of the police at NHS hospitals after Charles’s accident.’

‘Seriously? I wouldn’t have read much into “Police Commissioner fractures both arms at passing out ceremony”,’ he says, casually picking out a two-week old newspaper from the pile on his desk. ‘Jesus, headline’s as sterile as any hospital, perhaps even more so. She must be desperate.’

He tosses it aside. ‘So, what exactly have you done about it?’

‘Me?’

‘Well, obviously this is the first I’ve heard of it so you can’t expect me to have had any input yet.’

For some reason, Liz appears slightly troubled. Unusually, this doesn’t sit well with him.

‘So, wait. You’re telling me that Caroline hasn’t been in touch with you? And you haven’t been communicating with her?’

‘We were collaborators – in the loosest sense of the word – not telepathic. Besides, she and I aren’t exactly on the best of terms: we had a falling out over our respective worldviews, politics…ethics. Yes, _ethics_ ,’ he confirms at Liz’s sceptical look. ‘Even I find Caroline’s tactics hard to stomach sometimes. So be glad it’s me you’re saddled with.’

‘You know it’s funny that I go to bed every night thinking that exact same thing.’

Finn’s retort is cut off when Mia enters the room. ‘Liz, Finn…Commissioner wants to see you in his office.’

* * *

Inglis might have his arms in casts but they don’t make him any less imposing, thinks Liz.

‘We’re all mightily pleased to see you back, sir,’ offers Tom as he flits about the room, preparing coffee. He places a cup in front of Inglis, only to belatedly realise that he has no way of drinking it. There’s an awkward pause. ‘Yes. Right, I’ll see if I can rustle up a straw or something.’

‘Or a juice box while you’re at it,’ mutters Finn. He winces when he receives a sharp kick to the shin beneath the table. Liz.

‘That’s fine, Tom,’ says Inglis diplomatically and turns with some difficulty to his PR advisors. ‘I suppose you’d have already guessed why I’ve called you here. Cathy, can you…’

Cathy produces an iPad, showing footage of Inglis’s heavy fall at the passing out ceremony. Having handled the immediate fallout, Liz and Finn have seen it before. Only this time it’s followed by a large collection of Photoshopped images and tweaked videos. Many feature him slipping on various objects for cheap laughs.

‘It was my nephew who came across them,’ says Inglis. ‘On Twitter, I think. Or Tumblr. One of those.’

‘Internet memes are a naturally occurring phenomenon, Charles,’ explains Liz, briefly scanning through them. Her air is vaguely dismissive. ‘They’re mostly harmless, usually nothing to worry about.’

‘Yes, if I might interrupt the apparent David Attenborough of Social Media,’ cuts in Finn. He’s looking at his phone, expression decidedly aghast. ‘Tripping over banana peels is one thing, but skulls and dead commissioners?’

‘What?’ shout Liz and Inglis simultaneously.

Finn slides his phone across the table towards Inglis – which Tom catches in his grasp.

‘Oh cripes,’ he gasps, paling immediately. Tom’s reaction is echoed in turn by the Commissioner and Liz who are appalled at the sight of Richard Miller’s prone body seemingly laid out on the parade ground. Another one has Karl Jeffries in Richard’s place. The message is crass and distressingly clear.

‘When were they put up?’ demands Inglis.

‘Ten minutes ago. See, there’s always that one meme which isn’t so harmless, after all.’

‘One?’ snaps Liz. ‘I’m fucking seeing _two_ here, Finn. Or doesn’t the fate of a black teenager carry as much weight with you as a white, middle-aged man?’ Her Deputy remains stubbornly silent.

Despite appearing a little shaken, Inglis is already going into crisis management mode. ‘All right, all right, I don’t want this shitpile blowing up in our faces more than it already has. And I certainly do not want Jennifer or Mrs Jeffries seeing any of this.’

‘Absolutely,’ says Liz.

‘Could we take them down?’

‘We could,’ ventures Finn, retrieving his phone. ‘Ah, shit, they’re already trending in London. Even if we manage to take them down, hundreds of other wankers would have already saved and posted the images elsewhere.’

Liz nods in agreement. ‘Charles, the only way out of this, or at least try to stem the flow is to reach out to the affected families. Ask them to release statements, condemning the use of their loved ones.’

‘Hmm, it’s a good thing that we dropped by Mrs Jeffries’s flat, wasn’t it?’ Inglis casts a pointed glance in Finn’s direction. Everyone else's gaze swivel onto him, lock into place, and Finn’s caught like a well-groomed deer in headlights.

‘Absolutely,’ he manages after a beat, plastering on his best PR smile.

* * *

An interminable number of phone calls and hassled emails later, the Jeffries and Miller statements are released but not via the Met’s official channels. Liz had put her foot down on this, in spite of Finn’s protests that the message wouldn’t be strong enough.

‘We get within an inch of them, we’ll be accused of meddling,’ says Liz when Finn marches into her office. ‘I don’t want to sledgehammer the point home.’

‘Are you kidding me? We won’t be hammering _anything_ home at this rate; it’s like watching mice playing drums with toothpicks.’

Liz stares at him, her expression one of disbelief. ‘Is that really the best you can come up with, Finn?’

‘In a vacuum tube.’

She shakes her head, faintly in disgust, and waves him off. Finn storms away and broods in his office for a good five minutes.

Then he pulls up his chair and begins to write an email.

* * *

Three hours later, they’re beginning to see the fruit of their efforts with hundreds of shares being recorded on Facebook and Twitter. They’ve also caused mini wars to break out on the latter.

‘As long as they’re not killing each other, that’s fine,’ comments Liz when Finn sends her the links to the warring accounts. It’s the end of the work day and they’re taking a stroll along the Thames near the Tower. ‘At least, we’re having an effect. People are reacting, responding, debating…’

‘Yeah, really constructive debates going on. This one’s entirely made up of poop emojis and flames.’ Regardless, Finn’s tone is grudgingly one of agreement and Liz chalks that up as a small victory.

‘Which reminds me,’ he continues, tucking away his phone, ‘of our conversation earlier.’

He doesn’t know about Liz, but he had initially thought that Charles had called them in about Caroline Carey and the NHS angle, only for them to be drowned in another shitpile entirely and the matter had completely gone out of his head. That is, until he had fired off a cursory email to Caroline, telling her to get back to him ASAP.

‘Oh?’ says Liz and she stumbles a little as one of her heels gets caught between the uneven cobblestones they’re traversing.

 _Snap_ and there it goes.

‘Shit!’

The sound is loud enough to make passers-by turn in their tracks. Finn stops walking but doesn’t make any effort to help.

‘Are you just going to stand there and watch?’

A bespectacled young man tentatively makes his approach, eager to help. Until Finn stares him down and he backs off and so does everyone else.

‘I just might, until you tell me what the hell is going on with Caroline Carey,’ he says lowly.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Really? Because that’s exactly what Caroline said about your NHS bollocks.’

His voice is angry, accusatory… and it’s odd that he’s getting so worked up about this. Normally any correspondence between him and Caroline would leave him cold and indifferent; it was how they operated, how they always operated. They knew how the other ticked, what were their strengths and weaknesses – it was interesting how they never ended up together (that is, romantically) seeing how they knew each other so well but perhaps this was the sort of intimacy only reserved for mortal enemies. She was aware of his pedigree, of sorts, and had therefore tried to butter him up which had backfired spectacularly, while he was aware that he was one of the only few people who could talk her down to size, if necessary, because of that.

So he knows that whatever answers he gleans from her are bound to be true.

‘You’re seriously taking her word over mine? Caroline’s?’ Liz’s face is set and defiant but he can see in her eyes that the fire is wavering.

‘Caroline might be many things, Liz, but she knows better than to fuck around with me. Maybe you might care to take a leaf out of her book.’

He’s thrown some petrol into the flames now and she takes an unconscious step forward in outrage, forgetting that her heel’s broken. Liz wobbles, swears and says, ‘Are you threatening me?’

‘No, I’m simply giving you some advice. Since you’re literally on the back foot.’

‘Fuck off.’

Finn makes a show of processing this, shrugs and makes to walk off. ‘Suit yourself.’

No sooner has he turned around – and wondering whether turning his back on her was a good idea (one heel might be broken, but she still has the other to throw at him) – he hears her sigh deeply.

‘Finn, wait.’

He dumps his rucksack on the ground – he had brought his tennis kit with him in the morning – and folds his arms. ‘All right, I’m listening.’

Liz glares at him: it’s clear that this is entirely _not_ the way she had intended to impart whatever she was going to tell him. He takes this in with a certain sense of accomplishment.

‘I fucking hate you, you know,’ she begins.

‘The feeling’s mutual, no worries,’ he says glibly.

‘Do you remember that day when I took the afternoon off sick?’

Finn delves into his memory: that had been two weeks ago, almost exactly the same time as Inglis’s accident. He remembers half-jokingly asking Liz to pay the Commissioner a visit at the hospital. He nods.

‘Well, it turns out that I did actually end up going to the hospital where Charles was at,’ says Liz.

‘What, did you faint on your way out? Bash your head against a handrail on the Tube? Have a run-in with your ego?’ His tone is decidedly nonchalant.

‘No, I got a referral from my clinic.’

‘And yet you were perfectly fine when I came over that evening.’

‘Because I _was_ perfectly fine.’

Finn’s eyes narrow dangerously. ‘Liz, if you’re trying to distract me, it’s not working. How this connects to Caroline or – ’

‘If you’d stop interrupting me, maybe I’ll finally get to that,’ replies Liz acidly. ‘Long story short, I caught Caroline snooping around the place. Hoping for some dirt to dig up, as usual…Police Commissioners being her favourite type of prey.’ She pauses and bites her lip. ‘Although Heads of Comms aren’t such a bad haul as well, I guess, if you’re desperate,’ she adds.

‘I still don’t see how –’

At this, Liz finally lets loose.

‘Finn, I caught her at the hospital, she caught me in obstetrics and gynaecology. And I don’t think anyone can pass that off as an ordinary visit to your boss.’

And finally (thankfully) by the look on his face, Finn’s caught on at last. He gapes at her, wide-eyed, and now Liz really _does_ want to throw her remaining heel at him if only to end her ridiculous ordeal.

‘Liz,’ he says raspily, after what seems an infinitely long time.

‘Yes?’

‘Is it possible to slightly revise my earlier statement?’

‘And what would that be?’

‘I still hate you but not that much. On a scale from one to ten, ten being the highest, it’s like five…maybe four.’

She smiles and despite herself, it’s actually genuine. ‘It’s a four for me, too. But it’s going to be a ten if you don’t get the fuck over here.’

He quickly goes to her and leans over. She half-expects him to kiss her or something, but isn’t too disappointed when he instead retrieves his trainers from his rucksack.

‘Put these on,’ he orders.

‘Okay. I’m gonna need thick socks though,’ she replies wryly and sets herself down by the riverside. 

Finn looks up and grins, ‘Don’t worry, I've got a clean pair right here.’

As he helps her with his socks and shoes, Finn reckons another one of his statements needs revising: that 2016 might not be too bad, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! (Though it looks like this was posted on 31 December, it's actually already 1 January where I'm at. :)) 
> 
> Here's hoping that 2017 will be a vast improvement over 2016. *crosses fingers*


End file.
